Make room

On a post near the home of my maternal grandmother, legend has it that there was a charcoal drawing of a cat. It was put there by, as they were known during the Great Depression, the hobos, the transients who rode the rails and went from town to town, place to place looking for the basics: food, shelter, a job, a kindness. Hobos communicated to one another through a series of symbols and drawings. A drawing of a cat told all that a kind-hearted woman resided in the house.

A more appropriate symbol was never drawn. My grandmother embodied hospitality, a virtue in need anytime and doubly so during the Great Depression. When persons down on their luck and with ebbing pluck showed up at her door, my grandmother would put on a fresh pot of coffee, cut slices of freshly baked bread, open a jar of homemdae strawberry jam and invite the folks to table where she spoke with them, listened to them, and in doing so, restored to them a sense of their dignity.

Watching this and sitting at the table was not lost on my mother. She too had a wide and open heart of hospitality. For my mother, there was always room for one more at her table. A place setting, a delicious meal, and a non-judgemental hostess was standard procedure in our house.

Our shared society is in desperate need of reclaiming and living the virtue of hospitality. We live in a world where we are easily cut-off from each other as our electronic screens are smaller and our walls taller; it is very easy to remain separate and apart from all we would label as "other." This is detrimental to our well-being and our common welfare.

During this holy season, who can we let in?

sj;